


Within and Without

by Cryo_Bucky



Series: "Kandosii'la" and other words Boba Fett doesn't know. [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Din removes his helmet, First Time Bottoming, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pet Names, Pining, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, brief mention of panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky
Summary: Boba is not used to a lot of the changes he’s been through. Physical change doesn’t bother him - it’s actually nice to look in the mirror and not see himself as one of 1000, but back on Tatooine he feels like a changed man. He’s not used to being kind, and definitely not ready to lean on anyone else. But he’s trying.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: "Kandosii'la" and other words Boba Fett doesn't know. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087310
Comments: 23
Kudos: 317





	Within and Without

**Author's Note:**

> Finally a section from Boba’s POV!!  
> This was actually a blast to write and I’m extremely glad I decided to give the opposite POV a try. 
> 
> As always please let me know if I’ve forgotten a tag or anything like that.

Despite the rumors of Mandalorians on Meosus Boba doesn’t have the slightest idea of where to look for them. As he sets _Slave I_ down on the landing pad he’s struck by indecision. Do they simply wander the city and hope to stumble across them? What were these Mandos doing here anyway? Why would they care about the mines? 

Joining Din on the ramp Boba gazes out at the small but bustling port. The mountains that gave the city its access to the mining tunnels looming high and craggy. 

“Got any ideas?” Boba knocks him gently with his shoulder, the pleasing ring of Din’s beskar making his lips pull up in a smile. He hopes for Din’s sake that something worthwhile comes out of this.

“Not one. I literally stumbled across them on Trask.” Din strides out into the harbor, armor gleaming like a beacon in the midday sun. Boba can already see people sneaking glances at him, even as he hurries to catch up.

Despite Din’s initial lead he quickly slows, letting Boba chose their turns through the streets as he leads them back the way they had come their first time here. He has no ideas other than trying to find out what had brought the Mandalorians here in the first place. 

When they arrive at the block where Boba had met with the warden there is a large crater where their meeting hall had been. Well. That doesn’t leave much room for bargaining. 

Din catches up to him, tilting his head as he takes in the destruction, reaching for one of the buttons on his helmet and creeping toward the crater. 

“Do you think they were hired?” Boba calls as Din slides into the depression where the building had been. The sublevel had fallen in and clearly rocked the buildings around it, those that hadn’t sustained direct damage were leaning toward the hole. This seemed awfully personal. 

“No.” Din calls back, still scanning the debris, “This is overboard. It seems personal.” 

They agreed then. What could have happened to give these Mandos a personal grudge? 

Din scrambles back up to the street, taking Boba’s offered hand. “If there were any trail it’ll be long-gone by now. You said that those people that shot at us last time had a feud with the mines on this side of the city? Think they might be willing to talk and not just shoot us?” 

“Probably not, but I’ve got no other ideas.” Boba turns, heading for the main street again, taking them toward the other side of town. 

Din sticks close to his side, twitchy as he takes in everything around them. Boba can’t be as worried. He’d managed to blow these guys up before, and he was itching for the chance to do it again. 

No sooner had they made it across the main square of the city than Boba grabs Din to scoot him over several inches, a bolt that would have hit his shoulder searing the pavement beside him. Boba wastes no time firing back, watching the man drop from one of the higher windows. 

“Guess they know we’re here.” Din says, grumbling beneath his helmet, “If you could stop manhandling me-” 

“Stop being such an easy target.” Boba snaps, stepping behind a cart to at least make an attempt at cover, “You gleaming like a discoball doesn’t exactly scream subtle.” 

Din curses at him, though Boba doesn’t catch exactly what he says as another blaster bolt cuts through the air between them. 

“Okay, time for cover-” Instead Boba watches Din rocket upward and shoot toward the buildings on the far side of the square, “Or not.” 

The square quickly explodes into chaos around him, people trying to flee even as more of the Pehri goons seem to appear from every building. Okay, maybe the direct approach was a little _too_ direct. 

Boba fires off two shots in quick succession, watching as two of them drop. They seem focused on Din who has landed on the far side of the square and grabbed a sniper out of another window, tossing him to the street below. Boba can’t help but grin, grabbing a third man and tossing him like a ragdoll into an approaching pair. Now they seem to have noticed Boba, which he would have taken as an offense if Din wasn’t still zipping back and forth above them. A shot pings off his own armor as he snags the bolt rifle from one of the downed men to swing it up in defense- even through his helmet Boba can hear the crack of the man’s arm, and kicks him down for good measure before shooting him. 

Clearly these guys are in over their heads, but they do have numbers on their side. As soon as Boba takes them down more seem to come to take their place. The roar of Din’s jetpack approaches again again, and Boba watches with what little peripheral vision his helmet allows him as Din drops from the sky onto the back of the green-clad Pehri, wrapping his thighs around the man’s head and tossing him to the ground. Boba wouldn’t mind so much if Din did that to him later. Din dodges toward him, grabbing an arm and shooting the man in the chest, twisting so that his back is pressed to Boba’s. 

An explosion rocks the square and Boba stumbles, bringing the butt of the rifle up again to crack across an exposed face as the man tries to get back up. 

When he looks up he nearly laughs. “Oh good, the Mandalorians are here.” 

Din’s head jerks up at the sound of jetpacks, three distinctly Mandalorian shapes descending toward them. The smallest of the three lobs another grenade and Boba remembers to throw his arms up as it blows another crater into the square. 

“Could you throw those a little farther from us?” Boba hisses, knowing they can’t hear him from this distance but annoyed all the same. At least their arrival seems to be making their attackers think twice about their decisions. Boba wouldn’t want to go up against four Mandalorians either. 

Once the dust begins to settle Boba is left watching the Mandalorians approach through the rubble that had once been a functioning square. Clearly Din was incorrect in his assumption of how much damage these Mandos were willing to cause. Din shifts beside him, taking a step closer, and then another. 

Boba hangs back, more than willing to let Din take the lead in this situation. The three Mandalorians seem just as shocked to see Din as he is. Boba can see it in his posture, the stiff way that he approaches them. Any worse and he’d be reaching out like a child begging to be picked up. How he’s survived this long is actually beyond Boba’s comprehension. Din is so painfully soft and open that it’s nearly alarming. 

“Hello-” Din starts, then seems to think better of himself and stops his approach. Despite their similar outfits they are strangers, “I’ve been searching for other Mandalorians. My covert was destroyed...” 

The smallest of the three steps forward, head tilting, the unpainted stripes on her helm catching the light to sparkle even as the light settles toward early evening. 

“Where have you come from, brother? And why in the many galaxies have you brought _that_ with you?” 

From the disdain in her tone there was only one thing she could be talking about. Apparently Boba wasn’t doing as good of a job at disappearing into the shadows as he had hoped. 

Din turns half-toward Boba, and for once Boba is glad that he can’t see his face. No part of him wants to know the expression Din is currently wearing. Any of the possibilities are too much for him to consider. Giving up his facade of disappearing, Boba strides forward, to stand beside Din. The tiny Mandalorian steps back from him, hand going to the blaster on her hip. The other two appear equally tense. 

“I was his ride,” He says, but doesn’t offer any further information. They don’t seem to care much for what he has to say anyway, if their continuing hostile posture is anything to go on. 

One of the other Mandalorians steps forward, his red and gold armor somewhat garish even by Boba’s tastes, nudging the smaller Mando and making her look up at him. “Why don’t we all relax a little. Maybe we could have a drink.” 

“You three leave any bars standing?” Boba tilts his head at the hiss of annoyance from the woman. If it wasn’t for Din standing so close beside him he might be tempted to throw a punch. 

“Left plenty.” The third of the little Mandalorian troup finally speaks, his deep voice and blue armor much more muted. Din seems to be looking at him more than the others, and Boba isn’t really sure what to do with that information. 

“Lead the way.” Din says, and follows after them without a glance in Boba’s direction.

One Mandalorian is enough to draw eyes- Boba himself is enough to part a crowd- but four Mandalorians _and_ Boba? The streets are suddenly conspicuously empty of almost every living soul, despite the fact that they had been bustling mere minutes before. The few people that remain seem extremely interested in whatever it is that they are doing, and Boba can’t blame them. He trails after Din and his companions, feeling the itch of uncertainty gnawing at his back. It’s obvious that he shouldn’t be here. They won’t listen to Din with him here, he’ll just complicate things- 

“Boba?” Din has paused, immediately turning to him, voice quiet even through his helmet, “Are you coming?” 

Boba hadn’t even realized that he had stopped walking. Now Din is standing in the middle of the street and staring at him. The other three have slowed and are gazing at him as well. 

No part of Boba expects Din to say something like “I need you to come” but the tilt of his head speaks volumes. He holds out a hand, and Boba has the sudden urge to take it, like they’re children holding hands to cross the road. Taking a deep breath Boba steps forward, relaxing when Din simply claps him on the shoulder, matching his pace.

The cantina goes utterly silent when they file in. The red Mando finds them a table toward the back and Boba settles awkwardly onto the bench, relieved that at least one of the group has some sense. 

Any relaxation that Boba has been feeling immediately dissipates when the three remove their helmets. Boba has made it clear to anyone that mentions it that he is not a Mandalorian, and he knows that Din’s creed is not one that is universal across all Manalorians, but to see the way that Din goes rigid beside him is like seeing his heart break. 

The red Mando has unruly russet curls that have been somewhat flattened by their time in the helmet, and he shakes them loose, looking between Boba and Din as he sets his helmet on the table. 

“I apologize for my friend,” He says, nudging the woman beside him, “She tends to speak without thinking.” 

The woman seems to be focusing on Din, dark eyes calculating. She’s freed her long braid from where it had been tucked down her back, and she smooths it absently even while keeping her gaze trained on Din. She reminds Boba of Fennec, gaze calculating and sharp. 

A brave man approaches their table, looking like he wants to do anything else in the world, and the red Mando rattles off an order for them. Boba has no intention of drinking- he’s here for Din. Once the man scurries off the red Mando focuses upon them once more. 

“It’s not every day that we find others. And it’s certainly not every day that we run into Boba Fett. So what brings you here?” 

Evidently Boba had been wrong in his assessment of their group dynamics. Either that or this one was the only one that knows how to speak. 

Din has kept his hands flat on the table, doing everything in his power to appear non-threatening. Boba had never quite managed to be non-threatening in his life, but he did relax his posture as best he could. 

“Boba told me that there were rumors of other Mandalorians here, and was kind enough to bring me-” 

“And how exactly is it you’re palling around with Boba Fett anyway? I thought you died.” The woman, who Boba has clearly identified as the grouchy one, has shifted her gaze from Din and was back to glaring at Boba. Boba had a distinct feeling like he was being regarded by of an ill-tempered loth-kitten. She was young, and while she clearly knew who he was he had a doubt that she had seen enough years to know him personally. 

“This isn’t about me.” Boba leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, “I’m just an accessory. Why don’t you get the stick out-” 

The man returns with their drinks, looking even more as though he’s contemplating death. Boba doesn’t blame him. You could cut the tension at their table with a knife. Boba regards the glass in front of him for a moment. Usually he wouldn’t give two shits about removing his helmet, but something stays his hand. 

The blue Mando that Din had seemed so focused on sits forward slightly, his light eyes striking against his dark skin, and his voice even deeper outside his helmet. 

“You said you covert was destroyed.” 

“Yes.” Din says, “On Navarro. I’ve been looking for other Mandalorians, or survivors from my own tribe. I...I didn’t know there were others. So I didn’t know where to look.” 

“Please, enjoy your drink. You must have been very sheltered all the way out on N-” The red Mando cuts himself off when Din doesn’t move. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? Death Watch.” 

If Boba thought that Din had been tense before, now he’s turned into a complete statue. Boba has no problem with Din’s creed, inasmuch as it gives him something to structure his life. Why should Boba care what values Din has chosen to follow? But the shocked look on the woman’s face has Boba reaching for his blaster. There’s nothing wrong with Din. He doesn’t deserve to be looked at like that. 

“This is the Way.” Din murmurs, “The only way I know.” 

“Well, I’ve not met any of your creed in a long time.” The blue Mando places his large hand over Grumpy’s hand where it has tightened around the handle of her blaster, “I’m sorry that we can’t be of more help to you, but I fear we know as little about you as you do us.” 

“We ran into Bo-Katan on Trask.” Boba pipes up, partially just to see what their reactions would be, and also to see the complete look of surprise cross each of their faces. It appears that no Mandalorian learned to keep their expressions in check. Too reliant on their buckets to shield their faces. 

The blue Mando, who Boba was coming to think of as the most stable of the three, curls his lip. “I’m sorry you had to meet her. I can’t say I’m her fan.” 

“Then that feeling is mutual,” Boba continues, “What brought you here? We came through not that long ago and I feel like we would have noticed.” 

Din is still as stiff as a statue beside him, and it pains Boba not to check on him, but he isn’t sure that it would be well-received right now. 

Grumpy finally piped up, shrugging off Bluie’s hand. “We came on an errand for our own tribe. We were asked to clean up the mess that you two left last time you were here. Though we didn’t realize it was you.” 

“Blowing that big of a crater in the city seems a bit overkill, as is sending all three of you. I had a trade deal with that guy you killed. Now who’s going to trade me the stuff I need?.” Boba can’t resist looming. She’s just so tiny, especially compared to the two walls of armor beside her. 

“I don’t care _what_ you do-” 

“Alright.” Red intercedes again, throwing his arm around her shoulders and jostling her more roughly than might be strictly necessary, “Let’s just take a few steps back. No need for accusations. What can we do for you, brother?” 

Din relaxes a fraction, though he’s still stiff enough that Boba is worried for his joints. “My goal hasn’t changed. I don’t have much to offer but-” 

Boba has a moment of fear that Din is going to tell them about the saber tucked carefully into his flight suit and out of sight, actually whips his head around to stop him, but Din continues,

“I was the only Beroya for my tribe, even if you can’t point me to them I can be useful.” 

Red sits back, releasing his grip on his companion. “I’ll tell our Alor about you. If you give me a comm number I’ll reach out to you. There are few of us left, even with differences between us there’s nothing saying you aren’t welcome.” 

The relief radiating from Din is almost palpable, and Boba feels his heart clench painfully in his chest. This is where Din belongs, even if they’re not the same as the ones he’s been looking for. Din is a Mandalorian. Din is the fucking Mand’alor, and Boba has no right to stand beside him at all. 

Boba tunes out the rest of their conversation, head spinning with blackening thoughts as he regards the drink in front of him, wishing it were something far stronger. 

He doesn’t jump in surprise when Din touches his arm, but it’s a near thing. Looking up he realizes that they’re leaving, and shuffles out of the way to let Din out of his seat. The three Mandos follow them to the edge of town, and Boba can tell that Din feels lighter than before. It’s a good look for him, and Boba is happy. He is. 

Bluie touches Din’s arm once they’re in sight of the port, pulling him aside to say something that Boba doesn’t catch, the words and inflection unknown to him. Din looks surprised, but doesn’t hesitate to grab the other Mandalorian’s forearm in what Boba can only assume is a handshake-like gesture. If Boba could see his face he knows that Din would be smiling. 

Once they reach the ramp of the ship Boba pauses, curiosity clawing at him, “What did he say?” 

“Oh,” Din says, head tipping, “I caught the meaning but his dialect is a lot different than the one I was taught in the covert. It means “out of many, one.” They seem to be happy to have me. Hopefully their Alor will be as understanding.” 

“So you’ll be joining up with them? Want me to drop you off somewhere?” It wasn’t surprising to Boba that Din would have been taught a different dialect of Mando’a than these three. It seems that they didn’t share much in common, but evidently it was enough for Din. 

Din pauses at the top of the ramp, tilting his head at Boba again. 

“Am I not welcome with you?” 

Boba is extremely glad that his face was still covered, so that Din doesn’t see the kaleidoscope of emotions that flash across it. _Of course_ he wants Din to come back with him. But there’s no...reason for it. Boba isn’t offering him anything that these Mandalorians can’t. 

Din steps into his space, pushing the button to close the ramp, and leaning forward to tap their helmets together. This close Boba can almost see his eyes through the dark tint of his visor. 

“Did you think I would just leave with them? That you mean so little to me?” 

Boba steps back, chest tight. He’s never been one to talk about _feelings_ , and he isn’t going to start right now. 

“That’s not what I said. I just thought that you would want to get back to...normal. Spend time with your people.” 

Din puts his hands on his hips, “Utreekov, they’re not any more _my_ people than you are. It’s not like I told them anything. They didn’t exactly give me the details of why they blew that crater in the city- not like I can tell them about this.” He shifts his weight enough for Boba to catch the glint of the saber on his hip. 

“Not a Mandalorian. Just have a similar outfit.” Boba shrugs, turning to the ladder to lead him to the cockpit, “Pretty sure I just make your life harder being around. None of them seem to be big fans of me.” 

Boba doesn’t wait for Din to reply, just scurries up the ladder to begin their flight sequence. He’s not hiding from Din. Not from the way he had insisted he come with them, despite the outward hostility of the other Mandalorians, and not from the way that he treats Boba like a person worth caring about. It’s not entirely something Boba is used to. 

At some point Din joins him in the cockpit, settling into the copilot’s chair silently, tipping his head back and seemingly falling asleep. In his helmet Boba can just barely see him, so he removes it, just to watch the steady rise and fall of Din’s chest. When had he become such a sap? It wasn’t very fair of him to beg Din to stay. But Din hasn’t said he’s leaving... The unknown of it is what’s prickling at Boba the most. He would rather remove his own arm than have a “what are we” conversation. He doesn’t need to start getting clingy. 

When they touch down on Tatooine Boba’s mood has not improved. Din doesn’t say anything as they cross the searing sand to the cooler hangar bay that serves the castle. Boba almost snaps at him when Din touches his arm, but swallows back any bitter words when Din simply nods at him and turns to disappear down another hall. 

Boba needs a drink. Maybe a few drinks. 

Fennec finds him most of the way through a bottle of something that burns his stomach like acid every time he swallows. He isn’t quite drunk, but he is currently caring a lot less about his situation. 

“Didn’t expect to find you here. Things on Meosus not go well?” She sits across from him in the otherwise empty bar, silently taking the glass he hands her. 

“Things went fine. Great actually.” Boba’s voice is rough from the burn of alcohol, and maybe he sounds just a little pathetic. Fennec doesn’t say it, but does raise an eyebrow at him. 

“I know it’s not my place, but-” 

“Maybe don’t say it then. I could still kill you.” Boba snatches the bottle from her and refills his glass, the pleasant burn in his belly threatening to turn sour. His threat doesn’t seem to convince her, and she merely squints at him for a moment before continuing. 

“You’re his friend, talk to him.” Fennec downs her drink and pours herself another without missing a beat. Boba isn’t sure where she’s been getting the steady stream of alcohol since they arrived here, but he also isn’t inclined to ask.

“I don’t have friends. Be honest, Fennec - are we friends?” Boba’s tone is teasing as he swallows the last of yet another drink. 

Shand shrugs at him, lip curling into her customary smirk. “I don’t really need friends - so I’d say no. Business partners maybe. I owe you a debt.” She’s silent for a long moment before continuing, “You had better tell that to your Mando though. He’s a real bleeding heart. Might hurt his feelings.” 

Boba considers throwing the glass at her, but he’s really trying to be a nicer person lately, and simply sets it down with a harsh clink. “He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need some heartfelt confession of friendship.” He reaches for the jug again but Fennec holds it out of his reach. 

“I think you might regret having more.” 

Boba snarls at her, reaching for the jug again only for the bar to sway around him. Okay, maybe she isn’t wrong. He takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes to keep the room from tilting. 

“Sleep on it. Don’t talk to him now.” Fennec touches his arm and Boba lists a bit to the side, exhaustion hitting him like a physical blow. 

“Thought you were my advisor, not my councilor.” Boba smirks at her and she merely sips from her glass. 

“Aren’t those about the same?” 

Boba had thought himself stronger than this. Even as he collapses into his bed, kicking off his boots and wriggling out of his armor his thoughts scuttle away from him like frightened rodents in the light. He doesn’t know what to do. Usually the path comes easily to him, find a job, find a bounty, make his way through the galaxy without any hang ups or complications. But now? Picking up the pieces of the Hutt’s Cartel is easy enough, it’s what he’s used to, but caring about someone else? He might need more work on that. 

Boba does not dream often. After so many years of being on-edge and ready to leap up at a moment’s notice he would have thought himself incapable of sleeping deeply enough to dream. Not that his dreams are ever pleasant. He can count his pleasant memories on one hand. This one isn’t so bad though, blurry and unfocused as the alcohol drags him down, just the press of warm skin against his own, a deep voice murmuring to him in words he can’t quite understand, soft curls between his fingers and a plush mouth against his own. 

Jerking awake Boba already has the knife in his hand before his eyes are even fully open. He lunges into a defensible crouch, a snarl on his lips, only to realize that it’s just Din standing in his doorway, looking as unruffled as ever. 

“I don’t think I could have woken you gently, but I still apologize.” 

Boba relaxes, dropping the knife onto the sheets and leaning back to sit on the mattress, a sigh leaving him. 

“What do you want?” He doesn’t mean to say it so harshly, but his head is still spinning from the alcohol and his dream. His shoulders droop and he rubs hard at the ache at the bridge of his nose. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Din takes a step forward and Boba wants to shuffle back, wants to grab Din and scream. He does neither of those things, just sits on the bed and stares at him. 

“I can’t.” Boba finally says, “Not right now.” Not ever is more likely. 

“Boba-” 

He can see how difficult this is for Din too. They’re both more comfortable facing a firing squad than dealing with their own feelings. Boba has made a point in his life not to run from things, and he supposes that would extend to this. Hiding or pushing Din away would only hurt him. Din has to choose to leave on his own. He would. There was no reason for him to stay. 

Pulling himself up off the bed, Boba crosses the room, one hand coming to circle Din’s wrist and pull him close enough to tap their foreheads together, the cool beskar almost icy in the pre-dawn air. It’s easier when he can close his eyes and not look at Din, just listen to his soft breathing through his vocoder. The urge to lash out scratches at the back of his skull, like a trapped animal, but Din doesn’t deserve that. Boba is so tired. He can allow himself one moment of weakness in his life, can’t he? 

“My father didn’t teach me much of Mandalorian customs. They didn’t like him for a lot of reasons, some probably well-deserved, but he always came back for me. Even if I couldn’t understand why he would pick me out of the thousands of others - he cared for me and he always came back. Until he couldn’t.” Boba isn’t sure why the story falls from his lips, but it seems important. Jango had always come back, and maybe he was asking the same of Din. 

“ _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la._ ” Din tips his head down further, leaning into Boba. 

Boba squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “I want you to go. You don’t belong here. I’m afraid I’ll smear the blood from my hands onto you every time I touch you. I’ve repaid my debt to you, and you don’t owe me anything. You have to do what’s best for yourself.”

“Boba…” Din touches his chin, tipping his head up gently. Boba swallows past the knot in his throat. 

His heart leaps when Din reaches for his helmet, hands coming up to stop him, but Din simply leans back out of his reach, the seals on his helmet hissing loudly in the silent room. 

Something like fear snakes it’s way down Boba’s spine and he feels weak, almost drops his gaze to the floor just to give himself a moment longer not to look, shuffling backwards out of Din’s arms. 

Din grabs for him, helmet clattering loudly against the sandstone floor as his fingers tighten around Boba’s jaw again, forcing him to look. 

Boba instantly feels like he’s drowning in the deep brown of Din’s eyes, a wounded noise escaping his lips as Din smiles at him, corners of his eyes crinkling. His grip on Boba loosens but he doesn’t back away, face softening even further when Boba’s fingers brush over his jaw. Din leans into the touch, eyes slipping closed. He nearly looks like he’s in pain, and Boba can feel the intensity of it in his chest. The gravity isn’t lost on him, and even if he had any words to say he couldn’t get them out past his heart in his throat. 

Din’s eyes flutter back open, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He’s so beautiful Boba feels like the floor is going to slide out from under him. Din doesn’t stop Boba from gently tracing the curve of his full lips, the soft scratchiness of his mustache and the shorter stubble on his cheeks, just gazes at Boba with soft eyes. Boba cups his face in both hands, leaning up to kiss him, and Din pulls him closer, practically lifting Boba off his feet in his enthusiasm. 

A startled laugh bursts from Boba’s chest when Din manhandles him back onto the bed, scooting himself backward as Din straightens to pluck at his armor. Being able to see his face has Boba reeling, and he can’t help gazing at him, star-struck. Din keeps glancing at him, cheeks going pink at Boba’s staring. 

Once Din has wiggled his way out of his armor and pulled his undershirt over his head Boba can’t sit idly anymore, sitting up and tugging Din into his arms, leaning up to press a kiss to Din’s jaw. He can’t resist the urge to kiss Din again, grinning against his plush lips, then holding him at arms length simply to admire him. 

Din goes pink again, chasing Boba’s lips and whining when he tends him off. 

“Let me look. You’re so lovely.” Boba admonishes softly, brushing his thumb over Din’s lip and curling his other hand to scratch through the curls at the base of Din’s skull. 

Din melts into him, eyes going glassy as Boba pets at him. Boba can’t look away from his soft features. He wants to memorize every tiny detail- who knows if he’ll ever get the chance to see Din like this again. Pressing a kiss to the soft skin behind Din’s ear has him shivering, and Boba pulls him closer, making him scramble into his lap. 

“Would you let me fuck you like this? Want to look at you-” Boba is suddenly ravenous at the idea, wants to see every small way that Din’s expressions twist in pleasure. His thoughts are still reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions he’s gone through in the last 10 minutes, but he’s as sure of this as he’s ever been. 

Din gasps, shivering again in Boba’s arms, nodding at the same time he pushes Boba down into the silky sheets. 

“Please…” 

Boba almost loses Din’s plea in the softness of his voice, can only feel it rumbling through his chest. He would tease him for his politeness, but it doesn’t seem the time. Instead he rolls Din onto his side, pulling him flush against him and pinning him there with a leg over his hip, rolling his hips in a sinuous grind that makes Din curse against his throat. 

“There’s no rush. We’ve got all the time in the world, princess.” Boba grins anew when Din grumbles and shoves at him, simply grabbing his wrists and kissing him again. 

It doesn’t take much to make Din give up his grumbling, a few more kisses and Din is clinging to him again, sighing into Boba’s mouth. It’s a treat that Boba isn’t going to take for granted, shifting them slightly to settle Din onto his back so that he can take his time feeling him up. 

The soft noises that Din makes, just like the feeling of his skin under Boba’s palms, is both familiar and not. The searing heat of arousal tempers into a pleasant burn deep in Boba’s belly as he strips off the last of Din’s clothes, taking the chance to glance up at him and watch the way that his eyebrows draw together when Boba sucks one of his nipples into his mouth. 

“ _Mesh’la._ ” Boba murmurs against the softness of Din’s skin, running his fingers through the trail of hair that leads down Din’s navel. 

Din looks away from him, that near-pained look returning. 

“None of that now.” Boba rises up, reaching to turn Din’s face back to him. He meets Din’s gaze and Din’s breathing goes tight and shallow, a little panicked, gaze flickering everywhere but Boba’s face. 

“Din, look at me.” Boba’s tone leaves no room for argument and Din’s gaze snaps back to him, “If you need to stop, you have to tell me. If it’s too much-” 

“No!” Din practically shouts and then cringes, eyes fluttering closed again as he takes a deep and steadying breath. “It’s not too much...I don’t want to stop. I just...I need a moment.” 

Boba settles onto his side, letting Din curl into him as he pleases, warm air tickling his skin as Din takes a few more deep breaths. It’s no surprise that Din would be easily overwhelmed, and while he trusts Din to tell him if he needs to stop, the last thing he wants is to accidentally send Din into a panic attack. This means a lot to Din, moreso probably than anything Boba can think of in his life, and Din is trusting him with it. Boba would rather die than push that trust too far. 

A soft kiss to his collarbone brings Boba out of his thoughts, and he pets Din's hair, he’s always surprised by how soft it is.

“You okay?” Boba feels Din nod and opens his mouth to tell him he needs to use his words but Din beats him to it. 

“I’m fine now. Want you to fuck me.” Din’s voice is different without his helmet, not modulated through his vocoder- richer and fuller but no less deep. Boba could listen to him forever.

“If you insist.” Boba swoops down to kiss him again, then nudges Din toward the edge of the bed, “There’s some lube in the dresser over there.” 

Propping himself up on an elbow to watch Din cross the room Boba can’t help but whistle softly, admiring the breadth of Din’s shoulders down to his tiny waist and peachy ass, a smirk spreading across his face when Din turns to glare at him. Boba wastes no time in pulling him back onto the bed once he’s found the little bottle, squeezing at his truly tiny waist and licking into his mouth when Din lets him. 

“I take it you don’t often notice when people are admiring you.” Boba bites at Din’s bottom lip, drinking in his soft moan. 

“They don’t-” 

“Oh, they do.” Boba can’t resist the urge to pull Din closer and knead his hands into his lower back and across his tight ass, “I see them doing it.” 

Din arches into his touch, straddling Boba’s hips and licking at his lips, dark eyes heavy. Boba wants to devour him. 

“They don’t see me.” Din creaks out, “Not like you do.” 

It hits Boba square in the chest, and he can’t bite back the desperate noise he makes. Din is really trusting him with everything. The only one in his entire life to have this. Boba has never in his life felt this way, like he wants to fly apart just from how much he feels. He can’t think of a way to say it, so he simply kisses Din again. The simplicity of it still shocks him, just leaning forward to press their lips together, he’s spoiled with just this. 

Snatching up the bottle from where it has rolled away from them Boba settles Din onto his back again, sucking a mark into the soft skin across his ribs as he gets him set up how he wants. Din doesn’t protest as Boba shifts him, urging him to cant his hips up and wrap one leg over Boba’s hips. 

“I take it you’ve never done this before either, so you tell me if it’s too much, or if you need me to change something or slow down.” 

Din gives a tight nod, only to throw his head back when Boba presses a kiss to the head of his cock. 

“Just relax.” Boba shifts again, popping open the cap of the bottle with one hand and spreading some of the cool liquid over his fingers. 

Din makes a funny squeaking noise when Boba brushes his slick fingers over his hole, squirming but not moving away. He bites at his lip when Boba worms his way inside, panting out a breath. 

“Don’t worry, it isn’t weird for long.” Boba leans down to suck the head of Din’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it just to make Din whimper and throw his head back. It has him going boneless just the way that Boba wants, and he methodically works his finger inside. 

Din’s hand shoots out and digs into Boba’s shoulder, alternating between squeezing and fluttering in an overwhelmed kind of way. It’s precious, and Boba uses his other hand to tangle their fingers together, slowly working up to another finger. 

Din makes desperate noises high in his throat, like he just can’t keep quiet, can’t keep still. It’s got Boba aching to see Din so open and vulnerable. He’s so beautiful in the creeping light of early dawn, the first sun just peeking over the horizon. Boba isn’t the type to admire things simply for being beautiful, but he thinks he could become that person. 

“Boba-” Din grabs at him again, expression gone tight, and isn’t that something, for Boba to get to see the way his eyelashes flutter as he whimpers: “More-” 

And Boba isn’t going to deny him, pauses for a moment to apply more lube and then redoubles his efforts to make Din scream. It doesn’t take long for him to find that spot that makes Din let out a hoarse shout, back arching into a pretty bow as he trembles all over. 

“There you go, princess. Just relax and let me do the work.” 

Din does as he’s told, watching Boba through half-lidded eyes as he works him open, muscles in his abdomen twitching every time Boba rubs him just right. 

Only when Din is reduced to desperate half-formed words and pleas for Boba to “just hurry up already-” does Boba pull away. 

“Switch me places.” Boba grins at the shocked look that Din gives him, but helps him shuffle onto his knees anyway, tugging him into his lap. 

“You can control the pace this way.” Boba relaxes into the sheets, eyes raking over the planes of Din’s body as he hovers over him.

Din ducks his head, shoulders coming up for a moment before he relaxes again, shifting forward on his knees and reaching for Boba’s cock. 

“Slowly…” Boba’s grip on Din’s hips is nearly tight enough to bruise, but he still isn’t ready for the sensation of Din sinking down onto him. 

For the most part, Din takes his advice, face twisting up as he shifts his weight. Boba feels a little bit giddy, getting to see the way that Din’s expressions change as he settles down into Boba’s lap. 

“Feel so good, doll.” Boba runs his palms over Din’s trembling thighs, simply gazing up at him as Din breathes through the new sensation. 

Din dips his head, it seems he really isn’t used to using his peripheral vision at all, and simply moves his whole head instead. He braces his palms on Boba’s chest and gently rocks his hips, both of them gasping. 

Boba takes in every minute detail of Din bathed in golden light, the way that his muscles move under his skin, the flush that’s crawled down his neck, the way that his curls have begun to stick up in all directions from Boba’s fingers. He’s breathtaking. 

Din shifts forward slightly and keens, knees spreading just a bit further as he finds an angle that he clearly likes. Boba sits up, and Din clings to him, pulling him into a messy kiss full of teeth and Din’s soft moans. 

“Like it?” Boba murmurs, bracing himself as much as he can to push up into Din’s next bounce, and he’s rewarded by Din’s eyes going wide and rolling back into his head. 

“Fuck, Boba, feels good…” Din meets his gaze again and Boba’s grip on him tightens, “But I know you can really rail me. C’mon…” 

Boba isn’t known for being able to back down from a challenge, and he isn’t going to start now. He wraps his arms around Din and flips them in one smooth motion, pinning Din down and snapping his hips forward hard enough that Din gasps, legs twitching where they’ve fastened around Boba’s waist. 

“Yes- like that.” Din’s fingernails are digging into his shoulders, and Boba buries his face in the crook of Din’s neck, sliding one arm under his shoulders to get him even closer as he shifts his weight into the next thrust. 

Din falls apart, voice breaking as Boba gives him exactly what he had asked for, digging his heels into Boba’s back and wailing when Boba tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs hard. 

Boba knows that he’s babbling. Maybe it’s a bad habit but Din doesn’t seem to mind, whimpering and near to shouting when Boba tells him just how good he is. How pretty he looks.

“Unh- Din, fuck, just perfect. So good…” As much as Boba wants to drag this out he’s feeling near to shaking apart already, overwhelmed and on edge from everything. He loosens his death grip on Din’s shoulders enough to sit back, nudging one of Din’s hands toward his dripping cock. 

Din gets with the program pretty quickly, biting at his lip when Boba resumes his pace, stripping his dick with rough strokes even as he trembles into each of Boba’s thrusts. 

“Oh… I’m- you’re gonna make me come-“ Din’s voice has gone soft again and Boba tightens his fingertips into Din’s knee. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. 

Din writhes under him, squeezing his eyes shut, and Boba can see the sparkle of tiny overwhelmed tears at the corners of his eyes.

The punched-out noise that Din makes when he comes is almost enough to push Boba right over with him, but Boba forces his eyes open to watch Din shake through his orgasm, wanting to burn every detail into his memory forever

Din releases his grip on himself, muscles still trembling as he gazes up at Boba, flushed and disheveled and painted with his own come. A wicked smirk crosses his lips and he tightens up around Boba, making him wheeze out a moan. 

“Your turn. Come in me-“ 

“Should have known you were _filthy-_ ” Boba snarls, but it only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s fulfilling Din’s wish, his own orgasm leaving his ears ringing. 

Din wraps his arms around him, tugging him down and Boba doesn’t fight him, just flops down onto his chest and chuckles when Din wheezes out a breath. 

After a few more long moments Bobs shifts them, pulling out with a small hiss from Din that he soothe with a kiss. 

“You’re going to need a bath.” 

Din groans, stretching and slowly turning to bury his face back into Boba’s chest as he gets them situated amongst the pillows. 

“Later.” 

Boba floats there, petting at Din’s hair and admiring the way his face softens as he slips into that place just before sleep. He really is breathtaking, and Boba wants to look at him forever, just to hold his face in his memory a little longer. 

“Do you really want me to leave?” Din asks after several minutes ot silence, twisting his head to look up at Boba again. 

“I don’t _want_ you to leave… but there are things for you beyond this castle. Beyond me.”

Din leans up to kiss him gently, and that painful ache has found its way into Boba’s chest again. 

“When those Mandalorians we met on Meosus contact me I’ll go and visit them, but I’ll come back. I think we both know that I’m not exactly the same as I was- even if I stumbled upon my old covert I couldn’t slip back into that old life and pretend nothing was different.” Din presses their foreheads together in a mirror of every one of the times that Boba has done it, and Boba struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

“There will always be a place for you with me.” Boba leans into the touch, hand coming up to stroke the back of Din’s neck. 

It isn’t “I love you” but it feels close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando’a translations: 
> 
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - not gone, simply marching far away - a tribute to someone you’ve lost.  
> Mesh’la- beautiful 
> 
> Damn boba, I thought Din was an angsty bastard. 
> 
> What did you think?? Who’s POV should I do next when our boys split up? 
> 
> Come yell at me about these two on Tumblr @dindlarin


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